Chapter 101: Pumping Up Again! Tokyo Faction’s Petty Tricks!
Tokyo Television Station, Production Bureau Headquarters Building, that Executive Deputy Director’s Office located at the pinnacle of the power pyramid, was at this moment like the eye of a storm before it gathers, quiet to the point of suffocation.
Toshihide Takada stood with his back to the door, in front of that massive floor-to-ceiling window, holding a cup of top-grade Blue Mountain Coffee that had long gone cold.
Outside the window, it was the mottled light and shadow cast by Tokyo, this steel behemoth, under the afterglow of the sunset, the interplay of light and shadow like the intricate power chessboard in his heart at this moment, every vein leading to a future filled with the unknown and killing intent.
Intelligence, like silent electricity, had already been precisely transmitted here through his neural network spanning the entire television station.
Kei Tanaka, that Kanto Faction loser whom he had personally arranged to be thrown into hell, who should have rotted away like a puddle of mud in the corner, had actually… reassembled his old subordinates.
And the one who had glued this group of defeated remnants back together was that name which had kept him up at night recently—Hiroshi Nohara.
“Variety show…” Toshihide Takada’s knuckles lightly tapped on the icy cold glass window, producing a dull and oppressive sound.
He slowly turned around, his face always carrying a hint of gloom showing no joy or anger, but in those bottomless eyes flickered an icy cold like the deep sea current.
He pressed the button on the internal telephone, his voice flat yet carrying an unquestionable authority.
“Have Yasui and Ito come to my office immediately.”
……
In less than ten minutes, two starkly different figures, like two sharp blades unsheathed, one after the other, sliced through the tranquility of the corridor and appeared at the doorway of this room symbolizing the Tokyo Faction’s will.
Takashi Yasui was still in his playboy style, wearing a bright blue Versace Suit, with the top three buttons of his collar casually undone, revealing bronze skin underneath and a faintly visible gold chain, that handsome and unrestrained face bearing a roguish smile.
While Ito Chōan beside him was like his opposite, in a perfectly tailored dark gray suit, the eyes under his gold-rimmed glasses sharp like a hawk’s, the whole person emanating a calculated, scalpel-like icy cold aura.
They were the true twin stars in Tokyo Television Station’s variety show domain, the sharpest and most pride-worthy two variety show aces in Toshihide Takada’s hands.
“Deputy Director Takada, calling us so urgently, is there some good news?” Takashi Yasui plopped down on the sofa, unceremoniously pouring himself a glass of whiskey, his posture so casual as if this were his own office.
Ito Chōan simply stood quietly to the side, pushing up the gold-rimmed glasses on his nose bridge, those sharp eyes silently observing every subtle change in Toshihide Takada’s facial expressions.
“Good news?” Toshihide Takada chuckled lightly, the laughter carrying a touch of icy cold mockery.
He lightly tossed onto the tea table a briefing just delivered by his trusted aide about the unusual movements in Kei Tanaka’s team.
“See for yourselves.”
Takashi Yasui carelessly picked up the document, and with one glance, the roguish smile on his face instantly froze.
Ito Chōan also leaned over, and when he saw the keywords “Hiroshi Nohara,” “variety show proposal,” “Kei Tanaka team reorganization,” “national level project” on it, a faint solemnity flickered for the first time in those usually calm eyes.
“Those Kanto Faction guys… really don’t know when to quit.” Takashi Yasui tossed the document back on the table, sneering, his voice filled with the absolute confidence of a king: “That old fox Asumi must have been beaten scared and is preparing to switch tracks to play variety shows with us?”
“Overreaching.” Ito Chōan’s assessment was even more concise and cutting.
He looked at Toshihide Takada, sarcasm flickering in those sharp eyes: “Deputy Director, if I may speak bluntly, you need not worry about this at all. Variety shows and television dramas, animation are completely different worlds.”
“What is a variety show? The essence of variety shows has never been creativity, but habit! Stickiness! The audience’s reliance on turning on the TV at a fixed weekly time to see familiar faces!”
He held up one finger, his posture full of a sense of superiority.
“We Tokyo Faction have operated the variety show domain for decades, from cultivating comedians to signing idol stars, to deep cooperation with major agencies, we have long built a massive ecological barrier that the Kanto Faction cannot shake!”
“That Hiroshi Nohara might have some talent in storytelling. But variety shows are about ‘the scene,’ ‘people,’ ‘bits’! These things require time to accumulate and connections to build! A novice who’s been in the industry less than a year, even if he comes up with some earth-shattering idea, what then?”
“Exactly!”
Takashi Yasui took over at this point, shaking the glass in his hand, a malicious smile on that handsome and unrestrained face: “Once the audience’s viewing habits are formed, they’re hard to change. Laughing Wednesday and my Shining Starry Sky Time have already occupied the two most important variety show slots on Wednesday and Sunday. He wants to steal our audience? What a pipe dream!”
“Even if his show is really something, so what?”
Takashi Yasui shrugged, his posture like a cat toying with a mouse:
“Variety shows are weekly episodes, we have plenty of time to study his formula. As long as we tweak our program segments a bit, ‘borrow’ his highlights, and upgrade them comprehensively with our top star resources. In the end, the audience will only think we’re the originals, and he’s just a clumsy imitator.”
These words were filled with unmasked arrogance, yet they also revealed a cruel industry reality.
First-mover advantage and platform barriers.
Before these two mountains, any lone challenger’s efforts seemed utterly insignificant.
“Very good.” Seeing their confidence, a satisfied smile finally appeared on Toshihide Takada’s gloomy face.
What he wanted was this confidence, this absolute confidence befitting aces.
“Since you’re so confident, I’m reassured.” He picked up the cold coffee in front of him and took a light sip, those icy cold eyes falling on the two like knives: “But let me be clear upfront. Your two shows are the last face of our Tokyo Faction in the variety show domain, absolutely no problems can arise. Otherwise…”
“Rest assured, Deputy Director!”
Takashi Yasui and Ito Chōan stood up almost simultaneously, bowing deeply to him, their voices carrying an unquestionable resolve: “We absolutely will not give that young person any chance!”
……
When those two figures brimming with confidence and arrogance disappeared from the office doorway, the satisfaction on Toshihide Takada’s face quietly receded like the tide.
In its place was an even deeper shade of gloom.
He pressed the internal telephone button again.
“Get Iwata in here.”
This time, he couldn’t even be bothered with the honorific “kun.”
Soon, a distraught figure appeared at the office doorway like a ghost.
It was Masao Iwata.
He had long lost his former arrogance and flamboyance, having slimmed down noticeably, that suit which should have been decent now wrinkled like a dried pickle, those eyes once filled with ambition now holding only a numb emptiness crushed by reality.
Now, under Toshihide Takada’s “care,” he had become a so-called “external liaison officer.”
In plain terms, a high-level errand boy specialized in running errands and doing odd jobs, handling dirty work that couldn’t see the light of day.
Of course, this was far better than being fired or kicked out of Tokyo TV.
“Deputy Director… you wanted me…” His voice was hoarse, full of humility.
“Mm.” Toshihide Takada didn’t look at him, simply tossing a document in front of him: “This is a press release I just drafted about ‘Kanto Faction actively innovating and boldly pioneering new variety show domains.’ Find a way to ‘inadvertently’ leak it to a few media outlets we’re on good terms with.”
Masao Iwata’s body trembled violently. He picked up the document, and with one glance, disbelief and shock instantly filled those empty eyes.
“Deputy… Director… You… You’re…?” He stammered in a near-dreamlike tone: “You’re… helping that Hiroshi Nohara with promotion?”
He couldn’t understand.
He really couldn’t understand.
They were enemies, so why proactively cheer for the opponent?
“Promotion?” The corner of Toshihide Takada’s mouth curved into an icy cold, viper-like arc.
He slowly stood up, walked to Masao Iwata, reached out and heavily patted his still-trembling shoulder, his voice light like a devil’s whisper yet carrying a cruelty that chilled anyone to the bone.
“Iwata-kun, you’re still too young.”
“You think the higher you praise someone, the more glorious they get?”
“No.”
He shook his head, a chilling madness flickering in those icy cold eyes.
“The higher you praise them, the more miserable the fall.”
“What I want isn’t simply defeating him. What I want is hype-kill! I want the entire neon to hold the highest, most unrealistic expectations for his so-called ‘variety show myth’! I want all media to tout him as an omnipotent cross-over god!”
“And then…”
His voice suddenly rose, that gloomy face twisting somewhat from extreme excitement.
“Then, after his doomed-to-fail, ridiculous show airs, personally kick him down hard from the altar I built for him!”
“I want everyone to see how vulnerable this so-called ‘genius’ is once he leaves television dramas and animation!”
“I want the entire Kanto Faction to lose all face from this public execution I personally direct, never able to hold their heads up again!”
“This is the victory I truly want.”
Masao Iwata stared blankly at the man before him who seemed possessed, all color draining from his already numb face in an instant.
He felt a chill rush from his tailbone straight to the crown of his head, freezing his already riddled heart into ice.
He finally understood.
He finally understood the insurmountable gulf in scope between himself and the man before him.
He was still smug over gains and losses of a city or pool, while the other had long laid, from a higher dimension, a heaven-shaking trap to toy with all enemies in the palm of his hand.
“I… I understand…”
Masao Iwata’s body began to tremble uncontrollably.
In those empty eyes, after a brief fear, a faint, ghost-fire-like glow of malice and excitement slowly reignited.
He knew his chance for revenge had come.
He would no longer be a mere errand boy.
He would be, in this public execution targeting that young person who cast him into hell, the most important executioner handing over the butcher’s knife.
“Rest assured, Deputy Director.”
He bowed deeply, deeply to Toshihide Takada, his voice hoarse yet filled with unprecedented resolve worthy of entrusting life and death.
“I certainly will not disappoint you.”
Toshihide Takada looked at him like this and finally revealed a satisfied, demon-like smile.
He knew this long-discarded chess piece had finally found its new, and final, value.
And that blaze named “hype-kill,” ignited by his own hand, would soon sweep like a prairie fire toward that young prey in another office, still utterly oblivious.
……
【Hiroshi Nohara·Special Production Team】’s office.
Hiroshi Nohara was holding a cup of warm black tea, leaning against his desk, his gaze intriguingly scrutinizing the micro-expressions of everyone in the office.
Like a master chess player, after making his move, he no longer cared about the battles on the board but enjoyed observing the most authentic and interesting humanity presented by those chess pieces whose destinies he had stirred.
“Director Tanaka.”
He spoke slowly, his voice calm yet carrying a power that steadied the heart: “Is your team fully assembled?”
“Yes! Section Chief Nohara!”
Kei Tanaka, the man who had just undergone a soul baptism, now stood before him straight as a spear, those eyes having shed all dejection burning with two roaring infernos capable of sweeping everything.
“My former team had twelve core members. Aside from three utter wastes who’ve completely given up and are out of contact, the remaining nine are all in the meeting room downstairs, awaiting your inspection!”
His voice was no longer hoarse or numb, but robust and resounding with the vigor of one surviving a disaster.
“Very good.”
Hiroshi Nohara nodded in satisfaction, set down his tea cup, stood up, a general’s uplift flickering in those clear eyes as if heading into battle.
“Then let them see just how my Super Change Change Change is!”
PS: Keep asking for recommendation votes. Planning to write some daily life next. Hiroshi Nohara’s family back home is indeed due~ Rest assured, all are included~
